Erin go Braugh, Part One: Lessons from a Backpacker

A few weeks ago, I accompanied some friends from my exchange program on a three-day tour of central and southern Ireland, taking advantage of the long weekend that preceded the commencement of classes. As this was my first time creating and realizing an itinerary, I feel it's best to begin with a post about what I've learned about the finer points of student/budget travel.

1. Piss-poor planning prevents proper performance.

Now, I wouldn't call our planning of the Ireland trip a complete debacle, but we did make a few mistakes that any first-timer would. Our biggest blunder, perhaps, was booking our visit for the weekend of the Ryder Cup, the biennial American and European golf tournament, which was held in Dublin this year. Consequently, we had no accommodations in Dublin on Saturday evening, as everything had been reserved well in advance, forcing us to make the trip to Cork, which lies near the southern coast. (As luck would have it, this was a blessing in disguise).

It would seem that this is a rather common beginner's mistake, as another group from our exchange program booked flights to Germany for the same weekend of our Irish vacation. Munich happened to be celebrating Oktoberfest that weekend, as well.

In the end, however, everything worked out just fine. We managed to avoid the throngs of plaid-knickered, visor-wearing golf fans, and none of the members of Team Oktoberfest fell ill with alcohol poisoning. You really have to love a happy ending.

2. The day before security restrictions are loosened, the security guards at the gate will be supreme asshats.

As many of you know, following this summer's foiling of a terrorist plot to blow up planes by mixing volatile household chemicals, very stringent restrictions were placed on the size and contents of airplane carry-ons here in the UK. The restrictions in place for travel outside of the UK on the day of our visit stated that, in addition to the ban on liquids and balms, carry-on luggage could be no larger than the average briefcase.

Now, after having dealt with luggage issues on my way into the UK, I was in no mood to check my baggage into the cargo hold and hope I was reunited with it in Ireland. My group shared that sentiment. We had, for that reason, not brought any toiletries with us, save our toothbrushes. No deodorant, no toothpaste, not contact solution, nada. However, anyone packing for three days of travel, even sans toiletries, will be hard-pressed to fit it all in a valise the size of an Apple laptop. Even after much jostling and rearranging, Shae was forced to check her baggage.

So far this sounds reasonable. Inconvenient, perhaps, but certainly not life-ending. The trip through the security gate was quite another matter. Kim, upon arriving at the X-ray machine, was informed that only one carry-on was allowed per passenger, so her purse would have to be placed inside her backpack. Wouldn't you know it, that tiny addition completely changed the dimensions of her knapsack, and would have forced her to return to the check-in counter. Kim, however, was having none of this. After a solid five minutes of rearranging this and that, vainly trying to shove her bag into the crudely assembled, temporary carry-on bin, she took out her sweaters and put them on over her clothes. Five layers of sweaters later, and we were through security...

Though not before Shae and I were frisked by a woman who took employee dedication to a new, violative, and, perhaps, criminal level. A sample of our conversation:

Madame Frisk: "Spread your arms and legs and stand still while I search you." [She forgot to mention that normal "search" procedure included running her hands over my chest several times, adjusting both my bra and belt, and giving me a wink. (Fine, I lied about that last bit.)]

Me: "Um, wow, this is way more thorough than in the States. I kind of feel like you should buy me a drink first."

Mdme. Frisk, unsmilingly: "I'm not that kind of girl."

Me: "Yeah, neither am I, but..."

Mdme. Frisk, sternly: "If you don't stand still I'm going to start all over again."

Me: "Eeep." [inner monologue: "Find your happy place. Find your happy place."]

Naturally, the security restrictions were taken down a notch the very next day.

[Tangent: the result of us not bringing any toiletries on the plane? Brushing our teeth on the streets of Dublin.]
From left to right: Kim, Shae, and JaeHee taking advantage of a little toothpaste and some bottled water.

Me, getting in on the oral hygiene-goodness. Seriously, the mouth felt fuzzy that morning.

3. You get what you pay for.

Being students in a foreign country whose currency is trouncing the dollar, we try to find bargains on everything from haircuts to CDs. When it comes to accommodation, we are equally frugal. This can, on occasion, cause problems.

Our hostel in Dublin was touted as one of the best that Ireland had to offer by Hostelworld.com. After all, it was convenient to City Centre and attractions, including the Guinness Brewery, which was right next door. Surely we must have booked a gem of a budget hotel, eh?

Not so much.

We trudged up to our room at 2AM after a very delayed flight out of Glasgow, to find that we were sharing a 10-bed ensuite with six other travelers. Too tired to think, we all changed into our jammies and eagerly plopped into our respective bunks. Our respective bunks that smelled of nasty, dirty, unwashed men. All of the bedding reeked to high heaven of some ungodly mix of B.O., patchouli, and cigarette smoke; while I never had a desire to attend any incarnation of Woodstock, I felt like I was there.

Fortunately, breakfast was pretty decent the next morning, though the raspberry jam was magenta.

JaeHee and Shae sitting at the breakfast table. The breakfast room, with its cheery colored walls and city maps, was perhaps the hostel's only redeeming quality.

As horrible as the first night may have been, it paled in comparison to our second and, thankfully, last night at the Brewery Hostel. Coming home from a day tour of Dublin, we encountered queer little packages on our pillows.

If you can't make out the note, it reads: "Sorry I SNORE. Hope these help! -Canada"

How cute and considerate, but surely she couldn't be that bad, we thought.

Fast forward seven hours...

This girl sounded like she was sawing logs from her bunk. She was felling the great California Redwoods with each snorting, blustering breath. Around three in the morning, a few drunken Americans who were sharing the room stumbled in and proceeded to ask us how we were sleeping through such a racket. We weren't, was the unanimous reply from the seven other roommates.

Canada, I know we're friendly neighbors, but I'm tempted to take this girl's behavior as an act of aggression. You had better watch oot, eh?

4. Try to blend in with the locals.

This seems pretty straightforward. You know, when in Rome, and such. As Americans, we've been advised not to talk too loudly, not to travel in huge groups, not to make fun of France for always surrendering, etc.

So, we tried to do what's natural. We stopped into the famous Temple Bar on Friday evening, and settled down for a pint, grabbing the only seats available in the packed pub.

Aww, aren't we cute? [We had better be pretty damned cute, because those stupid pints of Guinness cost nearly $8US.]

Well, blend in is something we completely and utterly failed to do. Everyone stared, a couple snickered. This one guy leered, causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand up.

Now, I'm no Sherlock Holmes, but I think it might have had something to do with the fact that we were unwittingly perched on the pub's stage for the better part of an hour; we may as well have been iguanas at a giraffe party. After finishing our pints, we quickly and quietly gathered our belongings and made for the door.

And, finally...

5. Take some Vitamin C.

While I'm still scurvy-free, I did manage to contract some nasty viral infection in Ireland, which led to tracheitis after a week back in Glasgow. My flatmates were saints for putting up with the cacophony of my simultaneous hacking and wheezing fits. One morning, I very nearly dislodged my spleen as I coughed foul, green sputum into the sink. There's an image I'll never forget.

Seriously, though, Ireland was amazing, as I hope the next few posts will show.